


boy with a broken soul; heart with a gaping hole.

by thewriter8



Category: Hannibal (TV), Johannes Cabal - Jonathan L. Howard
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 15:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewriter8/pseuds/thewriter8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And it was unclear who had spoken first, or who had sipped his wine after the smallest of smirks, because they had trapped each other and themselves in this charade, and Johannes had been warned by his brother about therapists, and he had been warned by his mother about men like this one, men who hide who they really are and are as dangerous as they don’t appear to be, and he blatantly ignored them all, taking another bite of the enticing appetizer in front of him.<br/>Hannibal Lecter poured them both another glass of blood-red wine. They might’ve toasted something, but not something cliche, like their health or happiness, but to a darker creature, one they were both a bit afraid to acknowledge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	boy with a broken soul; heart with a gaping hole.

"It has never been about the attention."  
"Hasn’t it, though?"  
"I prefer to attract the least amount of attention as possible."  
"My good man, we both know that’s not quite the case."  
And it was unclear who had spoken first, or who had sipped his wine after the smallest of smirks, because they had trapped each other and themselves in this charade, and Johannes had been warned by his brother about therapists, and he had been warned by his mother about men like this one, men who hide who they really are and are as dangerous as they don’t appear to be, and he blatantly ignored them all, taking another bite of the enticing appetizer in front of him.  
Hannibal Lecter poured them both another glass of blood-red wine. They might’ve toasted something, but not something cliche, like their health or happiness, but to a darker creature, one they were both a bit afraid to acknowledge.  
——  
Because it was hard after she died. Everyone told Cabal it would get easier with time, of course. But his father saw a need to hurry time up.   
"They want you to go to therapy? Honestly, you?”   
"Why does that seem so improbable? You’re going to university. I think that’s far more dubious." Johannes retorted as Horst tied his shoes.  
"I care about criminal investigation, whether my family believes in me or not," Horst rose from his bed, adjusting his suit, "You’re just too practical and… put together for therapy, Johannes."  
"It’s an admirable profession."  
"You think they’re crocks."  
Johannes waved his hand dismissively, “I’ll give it a chance.”  
"Because Father wants you to?" Horst raised an eyebrow, waiting.  
"Something like that." And Johannes left the room, fingers itching and tugging at his tie, wishing he had said, ‘because something needs to work or I will fall apart at the seams’.  
——  
"Congratulations, Mr. Cabal, you’re hired." Leonie Barrow grinned, moving out from behind her desk. She shook Horst’s hand as he beamed back.  
"Thanks so much, I can’t wait for the opportunity to work beside Will Graham. He’s legendary, and a wonderful teacher at that," He paused, "Apologies if that sounded juvenile, I’m just very excited."   
"Completely understandable. He’s a genius," Leonie gestured to the door to her office, walking out of it with Horst, "It’ll be beneficial to have your intuitive presence at crime scenes, along with Will’s. He recommended you."  
"When do I start on cases?" Horst asked, eyes focused on her and not on the figure approaching him.  
"Now, Mr. Cabal. We’ve been called in." Will Graham held out his hand for Horst to shake. He took it.   
The body had been injected, with what, they couldn’t tell. Horst took a look at the scene after Will was finished with his observations.   
The room was silent and cold and empty, save for the body on the ground, still pink, as if her heart was still beating. But of course it was not. Her chest was ripped open, only lungs left inside.  
There was care taken, Horst could see that. She was beautiful and at peace, save for the gore strewn across her torso. The injury was rash, uncalled for. Something made him angry, frustrated, put him in a rage. The injection failed. She died. No…All the wounds are post-mortem, well after death, too long after death for him to bother attacking.  
The injection failed, yes. But she was already dead. It failed to bring her back to life.  
——  
He sang to her, because she was his everything. It was always a classical song, traditionally played on a cello or harp or piano, but he hummed the tune to her as she would fall asleep. It was her favourite.  
He sang to her as he ripped her to pieces, because she could’ve meant the world, the third of five stolen away, murdered, kept undead, tested, ultimately worthless because he was worthless, unable to think of the right formula, unable to let these women rest because of his selfishness and desire and utter loneliness, and who did he think he was to go about this, these post-mortem murders, these destructions of beautiful things, and who did she think she was to make him do all this, make him kill and test this resurrection potion on scores of innocents?  
"Because it will be scores. I will not stop until I am able to bring her back. And because of that, I am a monster."  
"I do not think you are, Johannes," Dr. Lecter locked eyes with his patient. "But let me ask you this: do you think I am a monster for doing what I do?"  
"I cannot pass judgement on the choices of others." Cabal mumbled, rubbing his face.  
"Learn to judge yourself as you do others. You are not a monster." Hannibal said with finality. Johannes nodded once.   
"You’ll continue to help me with the formula?"  
"I will."  
They finished their conversation. Hannibal played a record as the two shared another meal together. Johannes hummed along. He knew one of the songs all too well.  
——  
Horst watched his brother one morning at breakfast, peering over the headlines of the newspaper in his hands. He saw Johannes better than everyone else, better than the murderers he analyzed, better than the monsters he became. He looked at his brother, and couldn’t tell or wouldn’t believe what he saw. He’s healing, getting better, just like everyone else thinks he is. But why are his eyes so dark?  
He returned to his paper, read what the press was saying about The Necromancer, the name of the newest killer, a dark, scary title used to keep children inside after sunset. He read about the fourth victim, recalled her body at the crime scene.  
He looked at his brother. Johannes smiled briefly before taking a sip of tea.  
Horst decided nothing was wrong. Right?  
——  
There was a dinner party, a small gathering of friends, at Dr. Lecter’s house. The Cabal brothers invited each other, not knowing they had both been invited already, Horst by Will, Johannes by the host himself.  
So they went. Horst tried to relax, tried to let go of the fact that Johannes did not seem much himself, tried to enjoy the meal (which was excellent), the company (which was entertaining), the atmosphere (which was refined but maybe a little dangerous).  
Horst introduced Johannes to Leonie Barrow. Johannes introduced Horst to Dr. Lecter. The clock struck midnight, and it was just a bit ironic, the way the men had the same hungry expression, the way Johannes’s fingertips reached after Leonie’s elbow, the way Hannibal offered Horst a fifth glass of wine, the way they met in the kitchen later, after everyone else moved to the living room and the two men remained behind to clean.  
"Have you been enjoying yourself?" Hannibal broke the ice first, his back to Johannes as the two washed and dried.  
"Yes, I have. Have you?"  
Hannibal rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, turned on the water to the hottest he could stand. “Your brother is fascinating.”  
"Oh?"  
"He’s very similar to Will. That surprises me. I always assumed Will was one of a kind."  
"Don’t let my brother hear you say that," Johannes smirked, Hannibal chuckled. Johannes licked his lips before continuing, "He is extremely intelligent and cunning."   
Hannibal glanced over his shoulder at the other man. “I feel as though you have more to say, Johannes.”  
"He’s on our trail. He’s my brother, I…"  
"So which are you more concerned with? That he’ll catch you, or you’ll feel the need to remove him?"  
Johannes whirled, fist clenched around the drying rag. His face was the pinkest it had been in months. He was so angry, angrier than when he was first sent to therapy, than when Hannibal figured him out in two seconds flat, than when those women refused to come back to life.   
But he said nothing, because he had no answer. He couldn’t decide. Hannibal passed him a wine glass, steam rolling off in delicate strands.  
"He knows as much as Will, no more, no less. You must be careful, however."  
"Haven’t I been?"  
"Yes. But with stakes like these, you cannot risk a single thing." Hannibal turned back to his dishes. Johannes thought for a moment.  
"You asked me if I’m more worried about my brother finding out I’m a killer or that I’ll have to get rid of him."  
"Yes."  
"What about you and Will?"  
Johannes accepted another glass to dry, Hannibal turned off the water. “You think I won’t kill Will.”  
"You think I will kill my brother.”  
"I never said I did. I think you are more worried about the former in your situation, because you are ashamed to be doing these things. You would hate nothing more than if your brother knew The Necromancer was you."  
"I would hate for him to be dead.” Johannes whispered fiercely, holding tightly to the wine glass in his hand to keep from throwing it.  
"As I would Will."  
It was the admittance before a stalemate, because they were both a little bit damaged, and a little bit lonely, and a little bit me-against-the-world. But they’d make it.  
So long as no one stood in their way.  
——  
And it wasn’t her fault. Johannes knew that. But she knew too much, looked too similar.   
Will Graham would be devastated. Johannes knew that too. But it was just too easy, the timing too perfect for anything else.  
Hannibal asked if Johannes would need help. He responded with a no, of course. He preferred to work alone. They both did.  
Leonie Barrow didn’t hear Johannes walk back into the living room from the kitchen. She remained facing the fireplace, admiring pictures on the mantle, pictures of Horst, pictures of the Cabal family, pictures of a woman she didn’t know.  
She didn’t hear him until he was directly behind her, his socked feet finding the telltale creak in the floor. Her muscles tensed, ready to turn around.  
He grabbed her, nearly twice her size. He encircled his arms around her body. He dragged her to the couch, forcing her down. She screamed. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t tell you who his closest neighbor was.  
Johannes used a pillow. He straddled her and placed it over her face. It wasn’t dynamic or elegant, but it was effective, and she would soon be still, leaving the body near-perfect.   
And she did. Her fighting hands skimmed the floor as they fell. Johannes stood, adjusted his shirt and glasses and cravat. He removed the pillow after another moment.   
Yes, Will Graham would be devastated to lose such a pretty face. After all, Cabal was when he lost his everything.  
——  
"I am sorry for your loss, Will, though I’m sure you’ve heard that enough over the past three days."  
Hannibal watched his patient pace around his office, watched Will simmer. He waited for the breakdown, or the explosion, or the admittance, but there was none of that. He didn’t speak, just paced.  
"Is there anything I can do to help you in this time of mourning?"  
"I’m not mourning."  
"I hate to disagree, Will, but-"  
"She was only my friend."  
"Only one of your closest friends.” Hannibal countered, moving to the other man. He placed a hand on his shoulder to still him. Will obeyed, leaning forward as if he wanted to rest his head against Hannibal’s arm.  
"Jack’s going to take me off the case now, isn’t he? It’s too personal? He’ll think I’ll want to seek revenge instead of safely find The Necromancer?"  
"That is my prediction."  
"I trust Horst." Will admitted, looking at the ground. Hannibal released his shoulder.  
"As your therapist, but, moreover, your friend, I must advise you take leave from work. Any and all work you are doing. Horst can handle the case, and your class will go on without you."  
They looked at each other, and Hannibal thought he would have to kill Will right then and there. But Will nodded after a moment, smirked, said, in his wryest voice, “Do you expect me to take a vacation?”  
"I expect you to do whatever you need to do to safely mourn Miss Barrow’s death, and I expect you to continue seeing me."   
And Will nodded more honestly this time, gave Hannibal a clap on the shoulder before leaving. And Dr. Lecter released the letter opener he hadn’t realized he had been holding. And he went to lie down on the couch for a while.  
——  
The funny thing about the lucky number seven is that most people think it’s only lucky if you apply some sort of inane, personal meaning to it. Johannes Cabal didn’t believe in inane, personal meanings, which is why when Leonie Barrow’s body rejected the injection like six other women, he left her in the room, left her to the crime scene, left her dead.  
The funny thing about the lucky number seven is that it is lucky no matter who it’s dealing with. And luck hit Leonie Barrow straight in the chest, so hot and fast she woke gasping in darkness. She screamed the same scream she had released when her face was crammed into a pillow, and how long ago was that, she couldn’t tell, where was she now, her hands flailed and pounded against metal when she realized she couldn’t get too far, and she felt her body under a sheet and she wanted to scream even louder and perhaps she wanted to die again.  
There are always people on the night shift in morgues. And Leonie Barrow knew she was ever so lucky for that.  
——  
But she couldn’t remember anything. Wasn’t that lucky?  
"Did you wear gloves?"  
"Of course I did."  
"She will be arriving here in fifteen minutes. I’d prefer you were not here in case that triggers a memory."  
Johannes didn’t want to listen to Hannibal because his fingers couldn’t stop shaking and his heart finally felt like it was actually beating and this was it. It had worked. He looked at Dr Lecter, perhaps stood a little taller.  
"We’ve done it."  
"Do not be rash, Johannes. We do not know what sort of shape Leonie Barrow is in."  
"But she’s alive."  
"Would that be enough for you?"  
Cabal inhaled, exhaled, and shook his head. “Please. Please let me know how she is the moment you can.”  
"I will do my utmost."  
The Necromancer nodded to The Ripper before leaving, and Hannibal waited for Miss Barrow to arrive.  
——  
She was alive again, and all Will wanted to do was drink.  
"It must’ve been a Romeo and Juliet poison. You know what I’m talking about." Horst offered, taking a long gulp of his drink. Will finished his second, gave Horst a face.  
"But you know that’s not true. You know what The Necromancer was trying to do."  
"Yeah, but I never assumed he’d succeed!" Horst tried to laugh, but it came out strangled. Will ran a hand through his hair, then clenched his fist in the curls. Horst watched him for a long while. "Has she spoken to you?"  
"Only briefly. She couldn’t remember my name at first. She was surprised to see me, saying she had just woken up. The nurse said she had been conscious and speaking for the past two hours."  
"She didn’t remember being awake?"  
"She lost time."  
Horst took in his words, recalled them from another moment. “Like you do.”  
Will didn’t nod, didn’t shake his head. He ordered another drink instead.  
——  
He always asked them to draw clocks. It was a simple request, and reminded his patients of what they kept on forgetting. After she left, he compared Leonie Barrow’s drawing of a clock to Will Graham’s. They were identical, which pleased Dr. Lecter. The hands remained inside the circle, in their proper place. The numbers slid and skittered to the bottom right of the page. Not a soul would have said it was meant to be a clock.  
Just as he designed.  
——  
"Don’t lie to me!" she screamed at him through tears, hands clutching her forehead, machines beeping out of control, nurses pouring in, ushering him away, and Hannibal watched from the hallway, he watched Will crumble outside the door and all he had done was tell her she had been killed and brought back and was he crazy to believe that because everyone else seemed to think so, especially her, and she was always the one who mattered, and Hannibal watched, then walked over, grabbed Will’s coat, draped it around his shoulders, half-carried the broken man outside.  
Dr. Lecter made him dinner. They didn’t talk about it.   
And Horst was the only one called by Jack Crawford the next day. The Necromancer had killed another girl. They waited for her to come back to life. She didn’t, most certainly, this time. And Horst could tell this cut the killer deeply. He asked Jack where Will was.  
"The hospital. He had a mild seizure. He isn’t doing well."  
"Because of Miss Barrow?"  
"I’d imagine. But probably also the stress of what he sees. You know how that is, don’t you?"  
Horst nodded. “But I have my brother. He’s got my back, and I’ve got his. Will only has his dogs, and whatever remains of Leonie. I’m worried about him.”  
Jack gave Horst’s shoulder a squeeze. “Let’s pray that more of her comes back then.”  
And Johannes was sipping a glass of wine when Horst arrived home. Their eyes looked the same, rimmed in shadow, creased with worry. Horst sat beside his brother and wondered when they both grew up, and they went to bed without speaking.  
Horst had nightmares. He woke up sweating and certain he had died, that his body had left him without his knowledge. His brother had been in the nightmares. His brother had his mouth sewn shut. His brother looked piteous, except for the shadow looming over him.  
Horst was worried. Horst refused to sleep for the next three days, just to be sure he wouldn’t dream. Horst felt ashamed for thinking his brother was dangerous, but mostly he hoped he’d soon feel wrong.  
——  
He was going to do Johannes a favour, that was all. What if Leonie Barrow remembered? What if she remembered as clearly as it had happened? Johannes was so close to discovering the secret to resurrection that it just didn’t seem fair for him to be prosecuted. Besides, Johannes was his friend. You protect your friends, don’t you?  
So Hannibal went to kill her again. She was no longer hooked up to machines in the hospital, and therefore less monitored. It would be simple. It would be easy. It would be necessary.  
She was asleep. Hannibal noted the extra mug of coffee next to her bed, still warm. Someone had been here or was still here. So he made sure he was quick.   
But Horst wasn’t gone for long. And he saw Dr. Lecter remove the sheet from around Leonie’s neck, saw him rise to his full height and stare. And he saw the shadow he had dreamed about, the one that loomed over his brother’s shoulder. And he wished none of it made sense.  
He ran. He dialed as he ran. He listened to the ringing and listened to the answering machine. He whispered, and wished someone heard. “Johannes, help me. Johannes, please, please help me. I know what you’ve done, I know, but I don’t care. I understand. Please, pick up, please-“  
——  
"I feel like lifetimes have passed since we last spoke."  
"In a way, they have. How have you been getting on?"  
"I’ve been floating. I’ve been pretending I’m better but not really believing it."  
"But you are better."  
"I’m glad you seem to think so."  
"I know so. But I understand why you are concerned about your health. You lost a friend, a partner."  
Will exhaled, covered his face in his hands. “And The Necromancer hasn’t killed since Horst Cabal. So I have no idea where he is so I can stop him.”  
"Will, you cannot blame yourself for Leonie and Horst’s deaths. None of this was-"  
"I don’t believe it wasn’t my fault. Don’t you dare say this isn’t connected to me in some way."  
Dr. Lecter sat back in his chair, nodded assent. “I will say you can’t swear revenge. You must move on. The Necromancer is quiet now. Do not worry about him.”  
Will looked his therapist in the eye, might’ve seen something cruel there. “You seem confident.”  
Hannibal remained deathly still. “I am.”  
——  
Because he knew. He knew The Necromancer was quiet now. Because Johannes listened to the voicemail his brother left him each and every day. Sometimes two or three times. He had played it for his therapist. They shared a mourning silence together.  
But Hannibal Lecter knew The Necromancer wasn’t of Will’s concern because Johannes had moved out of the city. He had moved out of the state and left behind all he was. He left behind all he was to become the person he should’ve been with her.  
Because she was with him now. He had done it. And Hannibal told his patient to leave.   
"You’ve accomplished it, Johannes. You don’t need me anymore."  
So Johannes left, and took her with him. And he slowly forgot his old life. He stopped listening to his brother’s last words, though he never deleted the message.  
He never saw the way she drew clocks, so their life was perfect for a while.  
And Dr. Lecter sipped his wine after a lovely meal, wrote a note in his journal next to a formula Johannes might know a little too well. Hannibal waited for The Necromancer to resurface. He had a feeling he would return.


End file.
